


Failed Hunts

by Shadow_crawler



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_crawler/pseuds/Shadow_crawler
Summary: Just a normal day after a hunt doesn’t pan out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 151





	Failed Hunts

When Geralt returned to his room in the tavern, he found Jaskier laid out across his bed asleep. Pretending to be asleep. The pace of his breathing gave him away but Geralt didn’t comment as he dropped his weapons belt by the door and bent to unlace his boots.

The bed shuffled and he spared a glance to see Jaskier watching him, eyes half shut like he really had just awoken, and with the sheets moved down, completely naked. “Been waiting for you to come back.”

Geralt sighed and slid the first boot off. “Hunt was a hoax, nothing in those woods but stories.”

“I love how thorough you are.” Jaskier smirked.

Second boot off, Geralt followed Jaskier’s beckoning hands until he was sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard and a naked bard straddling his lap. Geralt’s hands rested on Jaskier’s hips, bony but not skinny, and his eyes roamed his face and shoulders. So scarless, untouched. It made Jaskier seem younger than he really was.

Bypassing words for once, Jaskier kisses him softly, slowly, almost not even touching Geralt’s lips with his own, but the fumbling of his fingers on clasps of Geralt’s armor betrayed his need. Geralt let him work on that while he undid his pants and Jaskier lifted enough for Geralt to slid them off and kick them over the side of the bed, now feeling warm skin on warm skin rather than cooled leather.

Finally the armor came apart and Geralt only had to shrug it off then pull his shirt over his head and chuck both. He watched Jaskier pause, fingers almost hesitant like the earlier kiss has been, as he traces the gold chain of the Witcher medallion on Geralt’s chest, following it to line between his pecs, to his abs, and stopping at his hips, then quickly back up to cup Geralt’s face and kiss him fiercely.

There was the fire Geralt had been sensing just under the surface. The kisses weren’t long but Jaskier gasped between each one, as if he were so starved that they were all he needed, a drowning man for air. Geralt pulled him forward by two hands on his ass and Jaskier knocked Geralt’s head into the backboard.

One of the hands on Geralt’s face disappeared and he could hear it slapping the wood of the night stand, knocking something over, sliding open a drawer, all while Jaskier didn’t pause in tongue wrestling Geralt.

He did, however, have to pause long enough to get the bottle of oil open and make sure they didn’t lose everything inside. Jaskier started to tip it to pour on his own fingers but Geralt dipped his own in the way first. There was a little noise of objection but it was lost quickly, Jaskier instead rocking forward so Geralt could reach around and prod his hole.

Jaskier loved the feeling of those calloused fingers inside him or around his dick, the way the texture added friction, he could never copy it on his own. He rocked back on the ministrations, small noises in the back of his throat and head back, eyes closed, just focusing on the feeling. His hands were on Geralt’s chest so he could feel the flex of his arm moving otherwise he was content on losing himself in the one, two, three fingers opening him up.

Geralt stilled his hand, knowing when Jaskier was ready by how his moans grew and leaned forward to kiss his pulse point as he withdrew his hand. He used what was left to slick up his dick. Jaskier didn’t need much maneuvering nor prompting, grabbing Geralt to line himself up then sank down slowly.

Jaskier grinned as Geralt bucked once, knowing the witcher prided himself on his control of his emotions or whatever he spouted. Lack of? Whatever. Jaskier didn’t much care when he got to watch Geralt’s expressions shift, a flush working its way from his face down his shoulders to his chest. He was panting, long, white hair stuck to his face, and watching Jaskier with something that could be mistaken for adoration. At least, that’s what Jaskier would take it as.

Trying to tease just enough to be sexy but not enough to be flipped and pounded open, Jaskier slowly started to move, lifting himself up the settling back down, moving his grip up to Geralt’s shoulders so he could better maintain his balance. Geralt’s hands settled in Jaskier’s hips and he could feel them flexing, used to being in control or doing something.

Jaskier loved when Geralt let him take the lead, letting him ride instead of lay down and accept. He leaned forward and kissed Geralt again, trying to portray the thanks when he was too gone for words, lost in grunts and moans.

The heat in the bottom of Jaskier’s stomach was pooling quickly and he lost his tempo a moment, rutting against Geralt. A hand enclosed his dick in turn, beginning to stroke him in time, giving Jaskier something to thrust into. Bear down, thrust up, it was an intoxicating rhythm, something he could never find a song to describe.

“Love the feeling of you filling me up.” He sang instead, not caring if the other tavern tenants heard. “Reach all the right spaces, so big inside me, feel so good, Geralt.”

Geralt groaned into Jaskier’s neck, ever the word expert.

“I’m so close,” Jaskier whispered, finally, “please.”

“Please what?” Geralt’s voice was gravelly in Jaskier’s ear.

“Fuck me.”

That was all the cue Geralt needed. He grabbed Jaskier’s ass, spreading his cheeks wide, and thrust up. Jaskier had to brace himself on the wall behind Geralt to not get thrown forward as Geralt thrust up again and again, chasing that high they were both after. Jaskier reached it first, curling in on himself, mouth open and eyes scrunched, and Geralt slowed but kept thrusting to milk him through it until Jaskier shuddered in afterglow.

He slipped Geralt’s dick out of him, to the questing half eye close of the witcher, and sat back enough to take him in hand. Now Jaskier could lean forward to kiss him, not as hungry as before but teeth still clacking as he worked Geralt to the edge, using the residual oil and pre as slick. It wasn’t much longer, a few more strokes, before Geralt was tensing, forgetting to breathe as he spilled on himself and Jaskier’s hand.

Satisfied, both men had one final kiss before both getting up to get cleaned. Perhaps, a failed hunt was not so bad after all.


End file.
